Monster House 5
Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Word count: 6750
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, suggestive themes, language, smut
A/N: Soooooo I went a little keyboard happy on this one. It’s a little longer than I thought it would be.
Immerse yourself in the story, Buy Sam’s Scent Here from @scentsfromthebunker (And damn does it smell goooooood)
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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5
Yanking a brush through your hair hard enough that you would just tear any knots straight out of your head helped to keep your focus. It was hard to concentrate on the fact that Sam’s hands had been all over the lacy black panties you were now wearing when you were busy ripping chunks of hair from your scalp. Satisfied with it just being out of your face, bust still wild and barely tamed you stuffed the brush back into your bag and lamented on not having anything left to do to buy yourself more time. You’d have to leave the bathroom eventually. You’d have to look at him at some point. And you were going to have to do it while keeping your shit together which was difficult enough just through sheer proximity. Let alone being all cramped and squished against him, his frame towering over you, so large he could have swallowed you whole. Long strong arms keeping you up as if you weighed nothing, his hand riding dangerously low on your stomach, holding you in place against him. His hands all over your underwear, and in them. An all too familiar heat blossomed between your legs.
Gripping the sink and clenching your legs together as if you could hold it in or stop it completely you let out an exasperated sigh. This whole job was a bad idea. You should have come with Dean. Sure he’d have been obnoxious, but you’d still have fun, you’d still have been convincing. And most importantly you could walk away after the job was finished knowing that nothing had changed. Dean was great, but you’d had plenty of time to develop feelings for him, and nothing evolved. He was exactly where you wanted him to be. Platonic. Sam was another story entirely. And you were playing with fire.
There were a couple options on the table for how this whole job ended. Either you’d put on a show, keep your act together and go home to pine for him in secret- business as usual. Status Quo. Or you’d wind up coming on too strong, playing the game a little too well, embarrass the shit out of yourself and then have to live awkwardly around him until you had successfully humiliated yourself to death. There was no third option. Because the third option was completely off the table and nothing but wishful thinking. The night he nearly kissed you in the library was a drunken mistake, and a near miss. You had to find a way to shut down the way he made you feel. Which was simultaneously amazing and amazingly frustrated.
There had been a few times little things he did stirred you up so well and so agonizing that you had to go find some rando at a bar to go home with and alleviate the desperate need in you. But scratching the itch never brought real relief.
A short, soft knock on the bathroom door brought you out of your head and back into the real world.
“You ready? This class is starting in ten minutes.” Sam asked from the other side. Your cheeks burned at the sound of his voice, and the heat pooling low in your gut just kept smoldering away.
“Yeah. Be out in a second.” You answered, but you could have melted straight into the floor. Giving yourself another moment to collect yourself you sucked in a breath to clear your head, fixing your face stoic, and unbothered. Stepping out of the bathroom you tossed your bag of toiletries on top of the dresser. Sam was waiting for you wearing a teal and gold plaid button up, the one with the snaps instead of buttons. The one that made his eyes just pop. The one that hung so well on him, and over his broad, muscular shoulders. The one that you had spent many nights dreaming about ripping open.
“I have clothes on now, you wanna tell me what you found out?” He asked. You preferred him sans the clothes, but you wouldn’t be able to focus. Letting out a snort you rolled your eyes, as if it was all just ridiculous, as if you truly didn’t want to see him naked. If you told yourself you didn’t enough times, then maybe you’d start to believe it. You were going to handle this whole job through sheer force of will. And if nothing else you were most definitely a stubborn woman.
“Yeah so get this- it turns out that the guy who built this place, Wellington, didn’t die of the plague like we thought.” You offered clever and proud. Sam’s brow furrowed in slight confusion as his interest piqued.”Right? Turns out he died of Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy.”
“Broken heart syndrome?” Sam replied, incredulous. You answered with finger gun, click of your tongue and a wink. “That’s… Really? I mean, people don’t really die from that.”
“Hey, I’m not a doctor, and I wasn’t there when it happened. I’m just relaying the info. Besides, it kind of makes sense doesn’t it? Guy’s whole family dies in a matter of months. Wife was the last to kick the bucket, from bubonic plague no less. Sounds like a perfect recipe for a stress induced heart attack for me.”
“That might explain the disappearances. If he’s a ghost he could be abducting people, targeting the couples here.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
“That doesn’t explain the body count in the woods though.”
“I mean… there is a very real chance that it’s just what the local authority thinks it is.”
“Animal attacks, and you buy that?”
“Why not? What are the odds of there being a ghost here and a monster out there?” You asked with a shrug. If Wellington was still haunting the halls of his home - which explained why it gave you the creeps, then you were willing to give the Garcia PD a little credit. Not to mention the fact that you were far more willing to take on a ghost case than a Wendigo or something else just as nasty. Ghosts were scary, but that was fixed with a simple salt and burn. And you were willing to put serious money on the fact that the Wellingtons were buried somewhere on the property. Gank the ghost, and go home before you did something you’d regret. Story tied up in a bow. End scene.
Sam was willing to run with your theory, albeit reluctantly. Because when were the odds ever in his favor?
“Okay guess we’re going to have to see if any of the guests have had any strange occurrences happen.” He said, moving to the door and holding it open for you.
“And where on the property they’re buried.” You added, continuing your thought as you walked past him. “I’m guessing Derek probably knows.”
Sam locked the door behind him, his body tensing when you dropped Derek’s name. Derek. He did not like him. There was just something about him that made Sam wary. Of course the designs he had on you was a factor in that feeling that he could not discredit. It was probably a majority of the reason if he was completely honest with himself, if not the whole reason. Of course, he wouldn’t blame you if you decided to make a move. He’d wind up just fucking hating the guy, but you were free to do whatever with whomever. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been with other men before. Wasn’t like he hadn’t been with other women. And he wasn’t going to be selfish enough to ask you to refrain from doing what you wanted.
“Alright, so after lights out we’ll to an EMF sweep and see if we can’t turn up old Wellington.” Going on with your train of thought as you made your way down the hall, Sam right next to you. You were talking but he wasn’t listening, and you weren’t exactly paying attention. He was too focused on the idea of you and Derek together. All you’d have to do was show a little interest and he’d be on you like white on rice. And it was infuriating. Derek would touch you wrong, he wouldn’t worship the parts of you that should be worshiped. He wouldn’t hold you right, or kiss you right with the passion and fire that you deserved. He wouldn’t pay attention to the the tender spots that Sam wanted his mouth over for the last year and a half. Then you’d come back to him smelling like the other man, and only half as satisfied as you could be. And he would have to choke down the way it would crush him. The way it does crush him, knowing that this was only a job to you. The way it should have just been a job to him.
“Oh!” A little light bulb clicked in your head as you stopped in your tracks two steps up from the base of the staircase. Sam stopped and turned to look at you. You were two stairs up and only barely eye level with him. “I almost forgot. That dancing night thing on Thursday. Turns out that’s an ongoing tradition in place of the Anniversary Gala’s that Wellington threw for his wife each year. Also it’s a black tie event.”
“What?” Sam questioned, unsure if he’d heard you right through your rambling pace and the word vomit. “Black tie?”
“Yeah. I know and there’s going to be a bunch of people people here because it’s apparently a big deal in these parts. And frankly I am not willing to rub elbows with the Bourgeoisie. Aristocracy can kiss my ass, they’re not better than anyone else. So anyway, the sooner we burn the bones and get out of here the better.” You answered not even wanting to ponder the idea of having to squeeze into some fancy little cocktail dress and heels and pretend like it wasn’t excruciating, or that your feet wouldn’t be killing you. It made you shudder at the thought of having to be around some weak-chinned trust fund baby talking about the tennis match they played at the yacht club. Sam on the other hand was less focused on attire than he was your comment ‘the sooner the better.’ Ouch. That one stung. You were right though, the sooner the case was solved and you could all go back to business as usual, the better. Less chance of fucking up, less chance of things between you changing. Less opportunity for him to slip up and spill something he should have kept to himself.
“Right.” He replied quickly, clearing his throat and shifting his weight on one leg. “Yeah, you’re right. The sooner the better.”
It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it. Distant and aloof, unfeeling. And it struck you in the chest just a small pang of hurt. Turning your eyes from him so he couldn’t see the disappointment you looked down the hall off the foyer. You shouldn’t have been bothered by it, after all he agreed with you. But his answer wasn’t nearly as comforting as you had hoped. No it was exactly what you hoped for. Nothing. That was what you wanted after all, nothing. That was how it should be, nothing. Because if there was something…
An unmistakable head of curly ebony hair caught your attention in the hallway and you let out a perturbed groan. Fuck, this bitch again. Sam followed your gaze to Esmeralda chatting with another couple down the hall. Chuckling he turned his attention back to you.
“Not a fan?”
“No. You should have seen the look she gave me earlier.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it. Y’know you have a chronic case of resting bitch-face yourself.” Sam teased. Your jaw dropped in offense and you shoved his shoulder playfully.
“Wow, rude!” You laughed, shaking your head in good humored annoyance.
“Hey, your words, not mine.” He replied. Esmeralda finished up her conversation with the other couple and immediately caught sight of Sam. Like a fucking lioness stalking her prey, she walked over as if it was a mission from god. In her eyes you had already disappeared. Without thinking you slipped your arms over Sam’s shoulders edging in closer. His hands came to rest at your hips as he looked at you quizzically. Up till you laid eyes on her you had maintained your distance.
“We’re supposed to be married right?” It was less a question more a statement and he gave you a dimpled grin in agreement.
“Right, because it couldn’t be that you’re jealous?” He asked and you snorted.
“No! I am not jealous of her. But if I’m playing the part of wife I gotta act like it right? Besides what do I have to be jealous of?” You stumbled through your denial, hoping you sounded more convincing out loud than you did in your head. Jealous. HA! What? Of her perfect full bodied hair that probably smelled like really expensive conditioner? Or her skin that looked as soft as silk? Pfft. Please. You were definitely not jealous of her absolutely killer body. Or her bedroom eyes with curling lashes a mile long and thick as night. Nope, not a damn thing to be jealous of there. And most of all you were not jealous or threatened by her presence around Sam. Not even a little.
“Mr. Wesson, I trust your hike today was enjoyable?” Esmeralda said, with a voice as sweet and smooth as summer wine. And you wanted to gag. Or choke her. Or gag while you were choking her. Sam turned to face her with a smile, one hand still on your hip. You dropped an arm from around his neck letting it lovingly rest over his bicep which was so strong you could have kept hands there for all eternity.
“Yes, it was very enjoyable.” Sam answered in earnest. Less about the scenery, more about you. A few choice moments sticking out in his head as particularly enjoyable.
“Marvelous.” She enthused. “Well if you’re ready the gentlemen are playing cards and having drinks in the parlor, if you’ll follow me.”
Your whole body froze as mild panic rose in your chest.
“I’m sorry I thought this was a couples cooking class?” You asked letting out a nervous laugh. Sam was supposed to be there to keep you from burning the place to the ground because you way overcooked a pie. Or quiche. Or whatever the fuck they wanted you to make. Not to mention the fact that it was dumb to have a cooking class listed on a couples retreat itinerary.
“Yes, well it was originally. Unfortunately one of the guests partners has fallen ill and couldn’t make it to the class, and we certainly didn’t want to keep him from enjoying himself this evening. I’m so sorry for the mix up.” She answered but didn’t look away from Sam, and you were pretty sure you saw her face harden out of irritation that she had to speak to you at all.
“Well. Y’know, I’m pretty good at Texas Hold ‘Em myself I’d love to-”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Wesson, I’m afraid there is only room at the table for one more.” She cut, her eyes darting to you like daggers, taking you a back completely. Fucking rude.
“So then why don’t you come with me to the class anyway?” You asked Sam, though it was more telling than requesting.
“I’m sorry, that won’t be possible either, it would be unfair to the other guests.” Esmeralda interjected. Seeming to have an excuse for fucking everything. You smiled through grit teeth.
“Of course it would.” You said finding it difficult to mask your disdain. Derek emerged from the hallway to join the three of you at the foot of the staircase, a kind smile on his face.
“Y/n, we’re so glad you could make it. If you follow me I’ll take you to the kitchen, we’ve got an excellent array of desserts and cocktails to sample during the class.”
This time it was Sam’s turn to be uncomfortable, his grip on your hip tightening a little upon Derek’s approach and all to casual drop of your name. Like he’d known you forever, it was too familiar. Esmeralda took him by the arm slowly coaxing the grip you had on each other apart, and he let her with little reluctance. She walked him down the hall to the parlor, but his eyes stayed on you and Derek until you were out of view.
“Yep, sounds… just fantastic.” You lied. He offered his elbow for you to take and escorted you to the massive kitchen where there were four other women waiting and chatting with full glasses of wine.
Dropping your hand to your side you took a look around. Clearly you had severely under-dressed for the occasion, these women looked like they stepped straight out the Stepford wives. To be fair this was one of your nicest t-shirts, it was one of the only ones that didn’t have holes in it, and it had a little ufo on it with small text saying ‘I want to leave.’ It was accurate, and it was your favorite. You even put clean jeans on without rips in the knees, and your nice boots. So… they were lucky.
On the table where they sat was several trays full of macaroons, various cheesecakes, tiramisu, and tiny cupcake sized apple tarts but the apples had been sliced thin and turned into roses. A small banquet table sat nearby with three clear beverage dispensers. One of them was champagne colored and had peaches and mangoes and strawberries floating in it, the other was a lime green concoction with more matching fruit. The last was most definitely Sangria, and you made a beeline for it. Derek stepped in beside you offering a glass for you to pour your drink into, though opening the spigot and letting it pour directly into your mouth seemed like a better use of your time and energy than anything that was to come next. You were going to drink the entire damn dispenser dry, fruit and all by the end of the class.
“Hi.” A woman with blonde hair curled into flawless waves, not a single strand out of place. She eyed you curiously, like you were a circus act than a person who didn’t know there was a dress code for a fucking cooking class you didn’t even want to be a part of! “I’m Emily, pleasure to meet you. And you are?”
“Y/n, nice to meet you too.” You held your hand out to shake hers but she didn’t take it.
“Come meet everyone.” Emily suggested taking you by the arm and practically dragging you over to the table, and introducing you to the other women like she was the host of a quaint dinner party. “Y/n this is Ashley, Victoria and Charlotte.”
Victoria was a haughty woman with black hair, with secrets behind her dark eyes. Ashley was a cute slip of a thing, but something told you she wasn’t exactly as innocent as she looked. Charlotte gave you a big smile, and was the only one who didn’t look at you like you crawled out of a hole.
“How long are you here for?” Charlotte asked.
“About a week, maybe less.” You answered.
“Less? Why would you want to leave early?” Emily quizzed. You were put on the spot, and you did not like being the center of any kind of attention.
“Oh y’know, we’re from out of state so we might try to check out a few tourist spots on our way back home.”
“Where are you from?” Ashley asked.
“Lebanon. Kansas.”
“A long way from home aren’t we.” Victoria said not bothering to look at you, just her voice set you on edge.
“Uh, yeah. Guess so.”
“How long have you been married?” Charlotte asked.
“A little while now, feels like yesterday.” You joked, awkward, and uncomfortable.The questions were flying left and right. Nosy and asking for too many details, details that were too specific and you couldn’t be vague enough about. You found yourself quickly downing the first of many more glasses of Sangria. You and Sam had gone over some details of your backstory, glossing over a general picture, but there were plenty of blanks to fill. And you felt like you were being interrogated, or dissected by these women.
“Where did you get married?”
“Uhh, we eloped.”
“Any kids?
“None.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Y’know I would love to chat a little more about this later but I think we’re supposed to get started now.” You said, trying to find an escape hatch. All day you’d been lamenting having to cook, and now you were elated to start. Anything to shift the focus off of you and your fake marriage.
Derek showed you to a station set up and ready, and right in the middle of the island, but you were land-locked by Emily and Charlotte on either side of you. And that’s when the dread really kicked in. This was actually happening. They actually expected you to participate, not only participate, but to do it and actually be happy about it! Maybe you could feign sickness and go hide in your room. The raw ingredients in front of you taunting you but just being there. You downed your second glass.
“Ladies tonight we’re going to be making one of my favorite recipes Amaretto Apple Streusel Cupcakes.” Derek started. The only part of that catching your interest was the Amaretto part. Beyond that- what the fuck made a streusel? You started on your second glass of Sangria.
Derek led the class through the introductory steps, talking entirely too much about the ingredients we were using, but making sure you knew that there was plenty of wiggle room in the recipe to adjust to your tastes. There was going to be so much Amaretto in yours you’d get tipsy off of eating one. If you didn’t burn it first. He left plenty of room for talking among yourselves.
“So how did you and your husband meet?” Charlotte asked, big brown eyes moving from you to the mixing bowl in her hands.
“We just happened to be working together.” You answered quickly. “So, this place is kinda interesting.”
“Yeah, I guess so. The mountains are nice, and one of the lakes is like… perfect.”
“Sam and I went for a hike today, it was definitely something. I could have sworn I heard like… scratching earlier when we were getting settled.”
“Huh. That’s odd.” Charlotte said, preoccupied.
“Hear anything like that in your room?”
“Nope, can’t say I have, but I honestly haven’t spent much time in the room. Declan and I have been keeping pretty busy.”
“Right, of course. I think I saw some flickering lights earlier too.”
“Well, this place is like really super old. I’m sure the wiring is a conflagration waiting to happen” She answered absentmindedly, adding extra spices and such to her mixing bowl.
“Yeah, it kind of gives me the creeps, y’know.” You pressed but Charlotte just shrugged and continued on with her task. The mixture in her bowl looking smooth and creamy, while yours looked… chunky. Clumps of flour sticking together and unwilling to unstick and mix right. And you definitely added too much amaretto, because some of it was runny. How could something be runny and clumpy at the same time?
Derek continued on with the next steps and down went glass number four. Your fingertips were starting to tingle, your head pleasantly buzzing. Derek refilled your glass and set it in front of you, full lips curling into a smile.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked, and you replied with a nod taking a long sip from your glass.
“Mhmm, I uh, I don’t think I did this right.” You answered a little defeated, eyes landing on the lumpy and runny bowl of doughy batter in front of you. Derek responded with a chuckle, as he moved around the island to stand between you and Charlotte.
“It’s just not quite mixed in there yet.” He said, picking up a whisk and whipping the batter smooth like it should be. He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “See? Beautiful. Have you tried it yet, to make sure your flavors are where you want them?”
Shaking your head no he let his hand trail down your arm taking your hand in his and dipping your finger in the batter. Bright green eyes locked on you as he watched you lick the batter from your fingertip. Unfortunately for him you were five glasses deep, and less concerned about the sultry look in his eye, or the way he was biting into his lip than you were about being delightfully surprised that it actually tasted okay.
“Wow. I thought for sure this was going to be inedible.” You laughed. Derek chuckled, and smiled at you again, rapt by you, and you saw an opening. Leaning your hip against the island, and taking another sip you edged in, just a little closer. “So, that guy Wellington you were talking about earlier, he really had to watch his whole family go down?”
“Yes, it's really terrible. The plague is not an easy disease to watch someone succumb to, it takes hold quickly and they suffered before they passed.” He answered, more than happy to be in your close proximity.
“Yikes.” You remarked, half way through glass number six. “So if they all passed away in a couple months, that’s a lot of funerals to deal with. Did they have like a family plot around here?”
“Yes they did, there’s a clearing in the trees by the overlook where they were all laid to rest. Mr. Wellington put this property here for the views, I suppose it was what he wanted in death as well. I’m afraid its all a bit overgrown now. The groundskeeper refuses to set foot on it. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious, I’m all about that spooky shit.” You answered, putting your drink down, because pacing is a thing and you needed to exercise it before something else uncouth just fell out of your mouth. Derek laughed, finding your comment more endearing than anything else. “Anything weird happen around here?”
“Depends on what you mean by weird.” He answered, intrigued. You edged in, just a hair closer.
“You know, like… flickering lights, cold spots, strange voices in the night.”
“Ah,” he laughed again. “You want to know if this place is haunted.”
“Well, is it? Should I be worried? Have to break out the crucifixes?” You teased.
“This place is old, and there have been an odd thing here and there, but I can’t say that it’s haunted. If it is I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anything supernatural.”
“Bummer.” You said slumping back in your place, and turning your attention back to the batter in the mixing bowl. Derek gave your shoulder a light squeeze before moving back around the island and continuing the lesson.
The poker game was done, and Sam could have won every round, but threw folds every now and then, not wanting chance putting a tarnish on a good first impression. The five other men split off to chat sipping brandy like they were on the goddamn Titanic before the iceberg. Of the six only one of them caught Sam’s attention. He was sunk into a chair by the roaring fireplace, his cheeks sallow and gaunt, he was thin, too thin. Clothes didn’t seem to quite fit right, and he looked just tired. Sam picked up a glass and sat in the chair beside him.
“Nolan, right?” Sam asked, earning nothing more than a slow nod from the skeleton in the chair. “You uh, you okay man? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine.” Nolan answered, quiet, and distant.
“You sure?” He pressed, unconvinced. Nolan didn’t respond, he only took a long sip of the amber liquid in his glass. Giving up on pleasantries Sam decide to skip straight to the point. “So, you wouldn’t happen to have noticed anything weird going on here would you? My wife and I we’re kind of into the ghost tours and stuff, and we heard this place had some unexplained phenomena happen over the years.”
Nolan turned dim blue eyes to him leaning against the arm of the chair, beckoning Sam to move closer and lean in to share a secret that wasn’t for prying eyes or ears.
“If you were smart, you’d take your woman and leave.” Nolan warned, locking eyes with Sam not a single hint of insincerity on his face.
“What?”
“You believe in ghost stories?” Nolan asked, his voice falling to a hush. Sam nodded, eager and interested. “There’s something here. It moves in the night.”
“What do you mean?” Sam pressed. Maybe there was some serious credibility to your theory. A small hand clasped his shoulder before Nolan could respond, he turned eyes up to meet icy green ones as Esmeralda stood beside him smiling cheerfully.
“Mr. Wesson, I was wondering if you’d accompany me to the cellar.” She said sweetly. “There are a few more bottles of Brandy and Bourbon for tasting, but I’m afraid I only have two hands and can’t carry all of them.”
Sam looked back at Nolan before turning to Esmeralda and agreeing to help with a nod. But the conversation wasn’t over. Nolan had seen something, and he was determined to find out what exactly he’d seen. Setting his glass on the mantel above the fireplace and followed the petite woman down the hall. When they passed by the kitchen he peeked in to see you smiling, cheeks flushed, and standing a little too close to Derek who ran his hand down your arm. His jaw set tight, not thrilled in the slightest to see Derek getting a little too comfortable with you, his wife. Fake wife. Friend. Business partner. Platonic co-worker.
Swallowing down his offense and jealousy that formed a lump in his throat he had to remind himself that it wasn’t his place to have any say over what you did. No matter how much he wanted to just steal you away. It could never happen. This was just a temporary arrangement. And you always did have a way of getting information from men. It seemed easy for you to dial up the charm and flash those pretty doe eyes, and they’d melt like putty in your hands. He knew that fact from experience.
The cellar was relatively small compared to the grandiose of the rest of the Manor, but it was still impeccably stocked. Different liquors and wines from all over the world fit into the cedar shelving. One bottle after another Esmeralda placed them in Sam’s arms.
“I do appreciate your help Mr. Wesson.” She said, her fingertips leaving the last bottle and lingering over his forearm.
“You can call me Sam.”
“Alright then, Sam it is.” She agreed. His name dripping from her lips like honey. “So Sam, tell me, what brings you all the way out here to our neck of the woods?”
“Y/n and I needed a vacation. Heard about this place, figured we’d check it out and see if it as anything special.” He said flashing a quick smile. She tucked a bottle in her arms before turning to look at him curiosity writ on her face.
“And do you have any doubts that this place will live up to your expectations?”
“No, I think it’s shaping up to be exactly what we were looking for.”
The Apple streusel whatevers were just about done being cooked, and the smell from the oven was mouthwatering. You had finished glass number six and hoping that seven would be the last one for the night because you simply could not remain in that kitchen without a drink in your hand, but you were already drunker than you’d intended to be.
“Y/n, you seem nervous.” Victoria said from behind you, making you jump in surprise, the look on your face startled as you turned to address her.
“I uh, I don’t cook much. It’s really not my specialty.” You explained honestly. Since moving into the bunker Dean was the master chef, and when he wasn’t doing it you stuck to leftovers, or food from the 7-Eleven.
“You don’t cook for your husband at all?” She asked, and you scoffed.
“Nope, Sam’s a big boy. If he’s hungry he can fend for himself.” You answered and she looked downright appalled. Oops.Maybe that was a little too honest. “I mean, we’re not particularly domestic… so....” You shut yourself up with the glass in your hand.
“I see, that’s a shame. I’m sure he’ll be pleasantly surprised then when you bring these back with you.” Victoria said, there was no change in the pitch of her voice, she was speaking pleasantly and civilly, but there was nothing but disdain in her eyes.
“Yeah, he’s not going to believe it.” You laughed, she didn’t.
“Do you do anything for your husband?” She continued. What, were you supposed to be his maid or something?
“Nope, he married me for my charming wit and sparkling personality.” You quipped, unable to stop the sarcasm that oozed from your words.
The oven went off and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. You excused yourself from Victoria’s irritating company and moved to wrap up your cupcakes and get the fuck out of the kitchen. The whole ordeal hadn’t been a total bust, you found out where the Wellingtons were planted, and that none of the women had experienced anything inexplicable, which didn’t give you much hope that your theory was correct. Polishing off your last drink you tucked the box of cupcakes under your arm and slipped out of the kitchen just in time to see Sam walking down the hall to the parlor with Esmeralda struggling to keep up with his pace. Letting out a grumbling sigh you headed back up to the room, not wanting to have to deal with little miss perfect for a single second, you’d had too much to drink and your filter was about ten minutes away from being nonexistent. The second you hit the bed your eyes fell shut.
When he returned to the parlor Nolan was gone, the cooking class was done and the men left to go be with their wives. But you were nowhere to be found. And neither was Derek, a pit grew in his stomach, not wanting to entertain the idea of where you might have snuck off to and with who.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight.” Esmeralda said, handing him a bottle of Bourbon.
“Yeah, yeah thanks. It was nice. Is that guy Nolan okay? He looked sick.”
“Mr. Ross is a little under the weather, I’m afraid he may be catching whatever bug Mrs. Ross had.” She explained with a smile.
“Right, of course. Thanks again, I think I need to go find my wife.”
“Goodnight. Sam.” Esmeralda said, growing want in her voice, and unmistakable in her light green eyes. Sam nodded, and gave her a quick goodnight before exiting down the hall and back to the room. If you were off somewhere with Derek he did not want to take the risk of catching you in the act. He didn’t think he could stomach it, or remain collected afterwards.
When he locked the door behind him and turned to the bed he was more than pleasantly surprised to find you sprawled across the entire California King size bed. How someone so small could take up so much space he’d never be able to grasp, but it was endearing nonetheless.One arm was hanging off the edge of the bed, and the other was stretched above your head where your hair splayed out like a halo around your face so serene and angelic. Untying the laces of your boots he slipped them off your feet and dropped them on the floor before grabbing a couple pillows from the bed and a blanket to settle in on the floor.
He lay there for a while, unable to quiet his thoughts enough to fall asleep. Just happy that you hadn’t run off with someone else. Reaching up he took your hand dangling limp over the edge of the bed and ran his thumb over the buttery soft skin of your knuckles, a small smile playing over his lips.
Breath hitched in your throat as your back arched, chin tipping back and eyes falling shut. Running your fingers through his silky chestnut hair you rolled your hips unable to get enough of that delicious friction between your thighs. Each flick of his tongue over your clit blooming that pleasurable pressure in your core. His lips sealed over your sensitive bud sucking a crying moan from your lips as his long deft fingers pumped in your fluttering pussy, rhythmically and with ease covered in your slick. Legs quivered as you drew your knees up along his side, one hand gripping the sheets of the bed and holding on for dear life.
“Oh god… Sam!” His name fell from your lips like a prayer the deep humming moan he gave in response vibrating against your sex sent you careening over the edge, fireworks igniting behind your eyes as your body trembled under his unrelenting touch. Giving a desperate tug on his hair to bring him to you, wanting to taste yourself on his lips while he buried himself impossibly deep in your aching pussy. But the eyes that looked up at you were not Sam’s kaleidoscope hazel ones, but rather Derek’s misty green eyes.
You stirred in your sleep, a soft, pleased moan passed your lips, and your breath quickened drawing his focus from the warning Nolan had given him to you who must have been having an interesting dream. Another moan, and the rustling of sheets as you shifted in the bed. The sound of your euphoric whimpers left him more than curious.
“Oh god… Sam..” You whispered, barely audible but he heard it. Palming his hardening dick through his sweats he tried to keep himself in control. But there was no mistaking what you were dreaming about now. His name falling from your lips causing the smoldering embers low in his core to flick into a burning fire impossible to extinguish. The longer he laid there, listening to your sleep riddled gasps the harder it was to keep himself focused on anything but you.
It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about you like that. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of you alone at night. But it was the first time there had ever been confirmation that you just might think about him too.
Unable to lay there any longer, cock throbbing and twitching with each of your rasping breaths he pulled himself off the floor and into the bathroom. Fisting his cock in his hand he pumped in tandem with the quiet mewling from the other room.
Sitting up with a shocked gasp, your eyes open wide and darting around the room in your confusion. That was more than unexpected. Countless times you’d had that dream but it was always Sam. It was never not him. And while Derek was handsome, you weren’t exactly skipping with enthusiasm for the chance to sit on his face. Running your fingers through your hair you let out a sigh, recollecting yourself, and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. You just drank too much. That was all. It was just the liquor messing with your head.
Taking note that you were still fully clothed you stood up to change into something more comfortable than jeans to sleep in, proud of the fact that you’d at least managed to take your boots off before passing out.
When you stood your head began to swim, the room spinning around you in a dizzying whirlwind. You’d drank plenty before, but you’d never been that drunk. This felt different. Your brow furrowed as your vision went black to a pinpoint.
“What the fu…” With a thud you collapsed to the floor in a heap.
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